Sunday, October 23, 2016

Otter Cove to Bar Harbor (or Riding a Giant, Salty Fart)

The southeast shore of Mount Desert Island encompasses the
western mouth of Frenchman Bay, which, even on a calm day, rolls some swell
into the bold, cliffy shoreline, creating the iconic features that make a
national park feel like a national park: postcard-worthy, selfie-inducing
roadside attractions like Otter Cliffs, Thunder Hole and Sand Beach. The first
time I paddled this stretch, the crowds of people on shore and the stench of
diesel wafting-down from tour busses on Ocean Drive made me glad to move-on to
less-celebrated, but perhaps equally stunning shores.

But now when I get a chance to paddle this stretch, I just
try to get used to the fact that we’ll be appearing in the vacation albums of
visitors from around the world, that, having paddled around the corner at Otter
Cliffs, we’ve stepped onto a stage extending to Great Head, that we’ve become
part of the entertainment.

Wednesday was a lively day out there, with strong west winds
and big enough seas to create all kinds of thunder when the waves crashed into
shore. Nate, Rebecca and I had a rare day off together, and plenty of time, so
after launching in Otter Cove we meandered slowly around Otter Point… and then
Otter Cliffs, looking to see what opportunities might arise.

Aside from all that, we were joining the zillions of leaf-peepers visiting to see the gorgeous colors of autumn; the colors really were spectacular, and you get a pretty good view of the colorful hills from the water.

On calm days there are usually few other boaters out there,
so on a bumpy day in October, it’s no surprise that, despite the masses of
humanity on shore, we were the only ones on the water. Oddly, I felt a little
shy of the audiences. Nate and Rebecca would swoop-in for their plays among the
rocks while I took pictures, and by the time my turn came it seemed like we’d
had enough time on that particular stage and I wasn’t sure I’d look as
impressive.

Not only that, but I didn’t want to screw-up in front of a crowd
that we began to expect might have been secretly hoping for blood, the sort of
thing that might play well on You Tube: “Watch these idiot kayakers get
plastered to a cliff.” Of course, some of the liveliest spots lay just beneath those watchful eyes and cameras and phones, but visible only from the water.

I was relieved to see both Nate and Rebecca, after
seeming to consider the slot at Thunder Hole where the railings above were
thick with camera-wielding visitors, move-onward. Surely there must be plenty
of anonymous, but equally thunderous holes out there.

We landed at the less-populated end of Sand Beach, and after
a quick lunch, continued out around Great Head. From here to Bar Harbor, we
would see almost no one on shore.

A blow hole occurs where the base of a steep cliff is
undercut, so when a big enough wave rolls-in, there’s an explosion of water,
sometimes a strong, directed burst of wind, and a rebounding wave. The nature
of these dynamics changes by the moment with the tide height and the direction
and sizes of the waves coming in.

If you’re game, you can get yourself into a spot in front of
the cliff and hope for the best. It might look scary and intimidating, but if
you stay seaward of the breaking wave, it can be relatively safe, since you’re
getting pushed back out toward open water, albeit you might be pushed in a rather
chaotic way. Spewed might be a better word than pushed. The cliff spews you
seaward. It’s as if the bowels of the island are farting you back into the sea.
It’s exactly like riding a big, juicy fart.

You never know quite how it will play out. Sometimes the spray
feels more like a wall of water, hitting your back with almost enough force to
knock the wind out of you. Sometimes it’s a refreshing slap in the face. Often,
the explosion of water is so enveloping that you have a moment or two of no
visibility, when you’re not even sure if you’re still above the surface. For
someone watching, the paddler completely disappears in the burst of spray,
which might shoot some thirty or forty feet skyward. You might get knocked over,
or you might find yourself atop a steep wave, surfing back out toward open
water.

I took a lot of snapshots on burst mode, and many of the
sequences end in a completely white frame as we viewers were also enveloped.

Looking back over my description, I realize that this might
not necessarily look like fun, and that it wouldn’t be much fun if you lacked reliable
skills (rolling, surfing, bracing, etc). It wouldn’t be a good spot to swim or try to
perform a t-rescue. But we had a good time, going back for the ride again and
again.

The rest of the paddle back to Bar Harbor, where we’d set a
shuttle, was relatively mellow.